


follow the colors i show

by waved



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Soft Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9217040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waved/pseuds/waved
Summary: It started with a breath.A breath, and Enjolras awoke among beauty — yet, demolition. Movie-type nature scenes, green screen perfection all at his fingertips, and yet office buildings succumbed in the distance, bow-backed skeleton structures lurking like ghosts.It was the end of the world, but it felt more like a rebirth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> merry (very, very, very, VERY late) christmas to intenseorjustinsane on tumblr!!! ur secret santa gift is an exr soft apocalypse au with a dash of reincarnation au. i hope u like it !!!!  
> title is from mark by la plage :+)

The end of the world started when Enjolras was young, but he feels like he remembers a lifetime before that, and he carries that heaviness with leftover pinprick anger. He remembers, from some time long ago, fear — longing — hatred — all a conundrum of emotions that he knew intimately from the day he was born, following into his world now.

But — surrounded by the hourglass decay of society, he finds his anger to injustice is no longer needed. So he calms, turns house cat docile, and breathes into the grass at his back.

Turning on his side, he faces Combeferre.

"Any news?" he asks, but it's an unnecessary question, prompted from boredom over curiosity.

Ferre gives him a crooked smile. "Since I got back? Nah. Courf should be back soon, though — fix your boredom through him." She grins wolfishly — reaches over to flick his forehead.

Enjolras manages a short, barking laugh in return and turns back over, gazing up into the pink-tinged sky. It hasn't always been like that — Enjolras remembers, back in the beginning, when it was dry-blood rust red, but before, he can't remember.

Though it seems like the world has returned to its roots (a nature green oasis), it's hard to find places like the one Enjolras and Ferre have found: secluded, safe, clearings with carpet-plush grass and scrawny willow trees; the picture of security. Most everything else has the dregs of society, but only its past reflections. Lonely ghosts of homes make up where they live now, 'they' being the tiny group of friends and family Enjolras had found.

None are blood relatives other than a blood sibling few and far between, and though they are fewer in number than the other societies that have been built, they make up for it in open-wound vigor and youth. They scream into bloody sunrises and they _live_ , unabashedly and free.

And within them all, there is a love that runs so deep — unmistakable, centuries old. It connects them all, interlocked like daisy chains, but there is a missing piece.

Distant shouting makes Enjolras sit up.

Courfeyrac comes barreling into the clearing, nearly tripping over his feet. He looks between Enjolras and Ferre like his blood is on fire — eyes feral-wide — and he opens his mouth but nothing works. Nothing but his heart, beating loud enough, it seems, that he can feel it through the ground as it rattles his bones.

"Holy shit," he finally says.

Enjolras stands, looking at him, and Ferre follows, almost scared.

"There's — _new guy_ —" and he is tripping over his words, spluttering until he can spit out a frustrated "Enjolras — _it's R_."

The name sends lightning shocks down Enjolras' spine and he bristles with its energy. It has a vintage ring and it feels like a memory, so Enjolras lets the memory take him — and the conflicting feelings fighting over his heart are nearly tangible.

"Take me to him," he says, blade-sharp, and Courf nods, still looking startled as he backtracks his way through footprint-flattened green. Ferre doesn't follow; she just pats Enjolras' upper arm, wishes him luck, retreats into the safety of the willows, unbothered and secure.

Courf doesn't even talk to Enjolras as they walk to their base, and Enjolras can't say he doesn't appreciate it. It feels nearly inappropriate when R — _Grantaire_ — is so near and so much has been left unsaid. The thought of him has turned from an old love-stock memory to something more — pressing, something heady and nerve-wracking, and it makes Enjolras want to turn tail, find Ferre and hide with her, but this is something he _needs_ to do.

The rest of Les Amis are huddled at the base, some stragglers on the side. There's bubbly noise, some screaming, and some are sobbing — Jehan has crystal-sparkle tears on their cheeks as they give a record-scratch smile, and Eponine is bent double with gasping, overwhelmed cries.

Everything goes quiet when Enjolras approaches.

He can just barely see Jehan press a kiss to someone's face and he's almost certain he knows who. Bahorel next to them though there's a gap in between, and Bossuet is next to _him_ , gripping Joly's tiny wrist as she leans on her cane. Then those in front — Feuilly, Eponine's siblings, Musichetta, Cosette — they all part and Enjolras' heart comes to a stutter-stop somewhere in his throat.

It's him. Grantaire. It _is_ , but there's still a dissonance in his memories — Grantaire, back during their time, was at least clean-shaven most of the time, hair never past his chin. _This_ Grantaire is a man who has been traveling for weeks, at least, and he is road-weary: hair long, face ruddy, eyes tired.

Enjolras feels the same pull as before, but it's stronger now; it propels him forward, stumbling over his feet, and Grantaire envelops him in his arms without a moment of hesitation with a feather-soft mutter of "my angel."

Tears spring to Enjolras' eyes and he begins to cry without even realizing — it just starts, and he can't really stop, so he steps away from Grantaire and —

And he punches him hard in the arm.

R staggers back with a wounded noise and Jehan looks ready to start a fight of their own before R waves them off. Enjolras wipes at his face.

"Fuck," he says eloquently. He curses again, with a little more feeling, and cards his fingers through his hair. He feels a little childish; he essentially threw the twenty-year-old equivalent of temper tantrum, but he can't tamper the writhing anger within him.

"Enjolras," Grantaire starts, taking a step forward, but he stops.

"God, I —" Enjolras cuts in, only to find he has nothing to say. "Sorry," is what he settles on after a moment. "God, fuck, R, I'm sorry, it's been _so_..."

R reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Long. Yeah. I know." He flashes an unsure smile, mouth full of crooked teeth, and for some reason, that's what sets Enjolras off again — his breathing turns into hiccup-gasps and he feels helpless through his tears.

But as Grantaire hugs him again, he thinks maybe he is okay.

  


* * *

  


They talk.

They kick Ferre out of the clearing (though Enjolras would hardly call it "kicking out" with the _smirk_ she gave) and settle in. Grantaire talks of his way here, threading in tales of grandeur, and as he talks his arms make their way around Enjolras' waist. He pretends not to notice but melts into his body nonetheless.

In return, Enjolras explains how they have kept their society running for the past two years. Eventually, he can't hold off any longer.

"I loved you, you know," he says, twisting in R's arms so he can look at him — gauge his reaction. R's eyes grow soft. "I've been missing you, all this time, but I didn't really — I didn't know. Know that it was you, I mean. I just felt incomplete."

"Would you mind if I kissed you?" Grantaire asks.

The question is so out of the blue that it takes Enjolras a moment to react; he does so with a sharp, dumb nod, and then Grantaire is leaning forward, _kissing_ him, all soft and angel-sweet, and Enjolras' brain short-circuits.

It feels like everything, after years of clawing at nothing, is finally sliding into place — and it's _good_ , and Enjolras has been so worried as to how Grantaire would take him.

But now he's kissing him (Enjolras finds himself long enough to kiss him back) and there's nothing unspoken between them anymore. It's just Enjolras and Grantaire — together, it seems, as they always should be.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to message me on my tumblr (flowernst) or my writing blog (waved)!


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